


The Diner Rules

by PR Zed (przed)



Category: Haywire (2011)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/przed/pseuds/PR%20Zed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm too soft a touch.  That's my problem.  Stan tells me that all the time, and he's not wrong.  How else can I explain why I took in two strays in one week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Diner Rules

**Author's Note:**

  * For [staranise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/staranise/gifts).



I'm too soft a touch. That's my problem. Stan tells me that all the time, and he's not wrong. How else can I explain why I took in two strays in one week.

Well, they weren't quite strays, exactly. And I didn't take them in, either. It's not like I let them sleep on my couch or anything. But I did let them in the diner, and that's more than I should have done, according to Stan.

 _Never hire anyone who's got trouble following them_ ; that's Stan's Rule Number One for running the diner. And I could tell from the start that this woman had trouble on her tail. She seemed smart, and she seemed strong enough to handle long hours taking orders at the diner. She wasn't so much pretty as striking, with long dark hair that was twisted into a ponytail. But there was also the smudge of a bruise below one of her eyes, a bruise that looked like it might have been caused by a fist. In spite of that bruise, she didn't strike me as a victim. There was something behind her eyes that told me she could take care of herself in any situation. And that she'd seen situations I'd never want to run across.

"Do you need a résumé?" she asked when she came in to ask about the Help Wanted sign in the window.

I laughed.

"Hell, no. I don't think Stan would know what to do with a résumé if he got one. He barely ever comes out of the kitchen, unless it's to yell at someone, and he leaves it to me to hire the waitresses. You'll be working with me mostly."

"Does that mean I have the job?"

I didn't have much reason to hire her. She didn't have references and I didn't know her at all. But I liked the way she carried herself. She wasn't going to be intimidated by some of our worst regulars. And heck, I just liked her.

"Yeah. Yeah, you do."

"Thank you." She smiled, a smile that showed how pretty she was; a smile that almost reached her eyes.

"You may not thank me after you work your first shift. Which is now, if you can manage it." Nancy had left me with no notice and I was desperate.

"I can indeed."

"Then I'll get you set up with a uniform." I started moving to the locker room back beside the kitchen. "I'm Madge, by the way. I'll introduce you to Stan when I'm sure you're not going to run away."

"I'm Mallory," she said and stuck out her hand for a handshake that was firm and confident. "And it takes a lot to make me run away."

Turned out she was right about that. 

Hard work certainly didn't make her run. She worked that first shift without complaint, and came back to do a split shift that evening. She got every order right, filled coffee mugs without being asked, and treated even the customers who were absolute jerks with courtesy and respect.

Heck, she even was nice to Earl Granthan, and I can barely manage that myself. The bastard owns half the block the diner's on, and he's not shy about letting everyone know how important he is. Though if he's so damn important I don't know why he eats at this greasy spoon as often as he does. I've lost more waitresses on account of him.

I thought I was going to lose Mallory before she'd even finished her first day when Earl swaggered in with a couple of his thugs and took a booth in her section. But she didn't bat an eye when he sent back his omelette three times, didn't rise to the bait when he complained about the coffee, and didn't say a word when one of his gorillas spent a bit too much time ogling her cleavage. 

The next time Earl showed his sorry face, he sat in Mallory's section. And before the week was out, he'd somehow become her regular customer. After three days I asked her how she could stand him. She gave me a wink.

"Earl's a pussycat," she said. "I know I can take him, so I don't care how much he puffs himself up or complains. And besides, I've known some assholes who were a lot worse than him."

"Worse than Earl I don't want to meet," I said, and was very happy not to have lived whatever life had led Mallory to know some bastards worse than Earl.

* * *

_Never let street kids in the diner_ : Stan's Rule Number Three for running the diner. He always says they never order much beyond a Coke and fries and they drive the other customers away. But Mallory didn't know the rule, and she'd put the girl in her section and poured her a coffee before I could say anything. And the way I looked at it, what Stan didn't know wouldn't kill him.

Besides, my second stray wasn't the kind of street kid Stan had in mind when he made the rule. No tattoos, no skateboard. She was quiet and was obviously making an effort to stay neat, even if her frayed jeans and scruffy sneakers and held-together-with-safety-pins knapsack marked her just as obviously as someone living on the streets. She ordered a coffee and a grilled cheese, paid for it with a combination of quarters and dimes, and then sat there, studying from a dog-eared GED book.

I don't know why, but Mallory took to her from the start. The girl would come every morning, and Mallory would fill her coffee mug as often as she drained it, and would even spot her a quarter or two if she was short for her grilled cheese.

She'd been coming to the diner for a week when Stan finally caught sight of her on one of his rare ventures outside the kitchen. I saw the frown on his face, saw him moving towards the girl, and I braced myself for the yelling. But Mallory must have seen him too because there she was, standing in front of him, hands planted on her hips, not saying anything, giving him a look. Just a look. 

Now, Stan's not the sharpest pencil in the box, but something in his mean little brain must have recognized that he wasn't going to win this fight. No way. No how. He backed up a step, gave a little sniff, and headed back to his kitchen.

"Make sure she pays," he said as he disappeared behind the swinging doors.

Mallory caught me looking at her then, and she glanced my way with a smile.

"Remind me to give you a call if he ever gives me grief again," I said.

"He's not so tough," Mallory said. "You just have to know how to handle him." Then she went over and filled the girl's mug with fresh coffee. The girl must have been watching too, because she looked up at Mallory with a worried expression.

"I don't want to cause you any trouble, Mal," she said, biting her lip.

"Stan's no trouble at all. Isn't that right, Madge?" she said to me with a wink. "You concentrate on your studying, Kim. Get your diploma so you can get out of here." 

"Yes, ma'am," the girl, Kim, said with a laugh.

* * *

It was maybe a week later that Kim showed up an hour later than usual, with her book clutched in both hands, her jeans torn, and the beginnings of a black eye.

"What happened?" I heard Mallory ask from where I was taking a customer's order. Her voice was even and calm, but her eyes had gone hard and her mouth had a determined set to it.

"It was nothing," Kim said, her eyes directed down at the table.

"Someone hit you. That's not nothing." Mallory took hold of Kim's arm and pulled her to her feet. "C'mon." She dragged the girl through the diner, into Stan's kitchen, and out the back door into the alley. I finished taking my order and followed. I had no idea what Mallory had in mind, but I didn't like the look in her eyes.

Once in the alley, Mallory stood in front of the girl.

"Show me," she said.

"Show you what?" Kim said, still looking down.

"Show me what he did to you. And I'll show you how to keep him from doing it again."

Kim finally looked up, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"I can't-" she started to say, but Mallory cut her off.

"You can. Now show me."

Kim moved slowly and put her hands around Mallory's throat.

"Jesus," I said under my breath as I wondered who exactly had tried to strangle the girl, and what else she'd had to go through.

Mallory didn't say a word. She just smiled and moved and suddenly she was free of Kim's grip with her elbow poised to hit Kim in the cheekbone.

"How did you do that?" Kim breathed out, her tone equal parts admiring and scared.

"It's easy enough. If you know how. And I'm going to show you how." She looked over my way. "You too, Madge."

She showed us. And it was surprisingly easy to get out of a choke hold, once you knew the trick, knew how to raise your arms and twist and use your elbow as both a lever and a weapon. Even an old bird like me could do it.

"You have control over what happens to you, Kim," Mallory said, her voice determined. "Never forget that."

And in spite of the torn jeans and the black eye, Kim smiled back at her.

* * *

After that, Mallory would take Kim out to the alley for a self-defence lesson on most mornings. On slow days, when I'd delivered all my orders and no one needed a refill, I'd go watch them. 

"Always keep your thumb outside your fist. Hit someone with it inside your fingers and you'll break it for sure."

It was amazing to watch, Mallory showing that shy, quiet girl how to defend herself. I could see Kim turning into a confident young woman right in front of me.

"Better to aim for the throat than the balls. Men will always protect their package but they forget about other targets."

Kim walked taller, and she didn't spend all her time looking down at the ground. She looked you in the eye when she talked to you. She even smiled more.

"Work against the thumb to break someone's grip. It's the weakest part of the hand."

And Mallory smiled more, too. She no longer looked like a woman with trouble following her. She didn't seem like the same woman who'd applied to wait tables in this shitty diner. She looked confident. She looked formidable. And I started wondering why she didn't get the hell out of this place and do something better.

I found out soon enough.

* * *

It all started with Earl, and wasn't that just typical.

He hadn't been in the diner for nearly a week, and I'd started to hope that we were rid of him forever. But then he came strolling in, with two of the knuckleheads he called bodyguards following behind him.

He sat in Mallory's section, just like he always did, and waved her over, just like he always did. He ordered his omelette and coffee, just like he always did.

And that's where it started to go wrong.

Even given what a bastard he usually is, Earl was in a foul mood. He sent back his omelette a record five times, spit out a mouthful of coffee on the floor, and called Mallory names I wouldn't have thought she'd have taken from anyone.

Thank God the diner wasn't busy that morning—Earl had arrived later than usual and the only people still there from the breakfast crowd were a table of housewives chatting over Diet Cokes and Danishes; two construction workers lingering over coffee, their massive toolkits jutting into the aisle beside their table. And Kim.

The housewives didn't stick around long after Earl started being an ass. They got all uncomfortable, and then they rose as a group, avoided making any eye contact with Earl, and threw a little change on the table. A very little change. Those ladies had always been lousy tippers, and I wasn't going to be sorry if Earl's outburst drove them off for good.

The construction workers looked over curiously when Earl was in mid-rant, but they didn't seem the type to interfere, and they didn't look like they were about to abandon their coffees, either.

And then there was Kim.

In all the time Kim had been coming to the diner, she'd managed to never run into Earl before. I could tell she wasn't finding his presence a pleasure.

I saw her wince when Earl laid into Mallory for the sixth time in as many minutes, and I hoped the girl wasn't going to say anything. I knew Mallory could take care of herself, but I didn't like to think what Earl would do if Kim stood up to him. Bully that he was, I could see Earl taking an obscene satisfaction in squashing a street kid. 

Before I could say anything, Mallory went over to her table. She filled Kim's mug with coffee, then bent down and whispered something in her ear. I didn't hear what she said, but I saw Kim's reaction. Her eyes went wide and her mouth opened slightly and she nodded. I remember wondering exactly what Mallory had said to her to cause that reaction. It went beyond a simple keep your mouth shut, that was for sure.

I went over to the coffee station to start a new pot, and then Mallory was at my side, her hand sitting lightly on my wrist. Her eyes looked like they had when Kim had shown up with that black eye. Hard. Determined.

"Go over behind the counter and duck when I tell you," she said.

"But why—"

"Don't argue, Madge. Please." That was the first time I'd seen any hint of softness behind her eyes, and that scared me more than anything. Because I knew something bad was about to happen, and softness was not going to be a useful quality when it went down.

I shouldn't have worried.

I moved behind the counter, hoping I'd get there in time, hoping that this would all be unnecessary, a joke. But it wasn't a joke and it was all too necessary.

"Down," Mallory yelled as soon as I had the counter between me and the rest of the diner. I dropped immediately, so I didn't see what happened. I heard it though. Heard the yelling and clattering. Heard the shooting.

The sound of gunfire is loud. Very loud. I pressed my hands over my ears, crouched down behind the soda fountain, and hoped it would be over soon. Hoped Kim would be safe. Hoped Mallory knew what she was doing.

I don't know how long the shooting went on. It was probably less than a minute, but it seemed to take forever. But it finally stopped, and there was just the sound of a struggle and then Mallory's voice.

"Madge. I need your help."

I poked my head up above the counter slowly, not entirely convinced I wasn't going to be shot at. But when no bullets came my way, I stood up and looked at what had become of the diner.

Earl's two knuckleheads were on the floor, unmoving, their guns knocked out of easy reach. I wasn't sure if they were dead or unconscious, and I honestly didn't care. The two construction workers had Earl gagged and in a headlock and were dragging him out the door to where a van seemed to be waiting for them. And Mallory was in the corner, kneeling beside Kim, her hand on Kim's leg.

"I need you to call 911," Mallory said without looking up. "And then I need you to get a clean towel and put pressure on this wound."

I froze in place. I was telling myself to move, to do what Mallory had asked, but my body seemed to be ignoring my brain. I could hear blood rushing in my ears, and I wondered if I was going to pass out.

"Madge?" Mallory looked up at me. "I know this is difficult, but I need you to stay with me. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"Okay, first take a deep breath."

I struggled to do it, but the air seemed to burn in my throat and my breath caught in my chest.

"C'mon, Madge. You can do it."

I forced myself to relax and finally managed to take a deep breath. And with oxygen in my lungs, I found I could move. I headed for the payphone beside the kitchen, but Stan took that moment to burst out of the kitchen.

"What the hell's going on out here?" he yelled, stopping when he saw the bodies on the floor. His mouth went round and his hands fell to his side. He looked like I'd felt just seconds before.

"You can be part of the problem or part of the solution, Stan," Mallory said, her voice hard and uncompromising. "You gonna be part of the solution?"

With his mouth still hanging open, Stan nodded.

"Then I need you to call 911. Tell them there's a gunshot wound to the leg. And then get back in the kitchen and stay there. You got that?"

Stan nodded again.

"Good. Madge, you can get that clean towel now."

I grabbed a couple of clean towels from behind the counter, then headed towards Mallory and Kim as I heard Stan fumbling with the phone behind me. Mallory shifted over so I could ease myself down beside Kim.

Kim looked up at Mallory, her eyes panicked, one hand clutching at the leg of a chair beside her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't get out of the way like you told me to." Her voice was so quiet I could barely hear it.

"It's okay, Kim. It'll be okay." Mallory turned to me. "I need you to fold a towel into a pad and then put it right here," she said.

That was the first time I looked down and really saw what was wrong with Kim's leg.

It seemed like there was blood everywhere, soaked into her jeans and on the floor. Mallory had her hands on the wound, but there was still blood welling up around her fingers. I nearly stopped breathing again.

"Stay with me, Madge. I need you, and so does Kim."

That did it. Got me breathing again, got me folding the towel and putting it on Kim's leg, holding it in place as the blood started staining my hands.

Just then, the door swung open and one of the construction workers, a young guy, popped his head in.

"We gotta go, Mal."

"In a minute."

"Now!"

Mallory started to stand.

"Keep the pressure on, Madge. The ambulance will be here soon." She turned to Kim, bent down to put one hand gently on her shoulder. "And you, just keep breathing, keep calm. You're going to be fine." Then she turned and ran out the door. I could see her jump into the van, the one they'd dragged Earl into, and then they were speeding off.

* * *

The rest of that day passed in a blur. The ambulance arrived and the paramedics took care of Kim, and they made sure I wasn't in shock, and the police arrive and asked me questions for hours—about Mallory, about Earl—and I finally ended up in my apartment, trying to get the blood from beneath my fingernails.

Stan closed the diner down for the rest of the week to clean the place up. I took the time off because every time I thought of even leaving the apartment, I started to shake.

But three days later I finally managed to get outside, and I ended up at the hospital they'd taken Kim to.

It took me a while to find Kim's room. I didn't know her last name for a start, and when you start asking about a gunshot victim, hospital security suddenly gets very interested in you. But they finally decided I was harmless and gave me Kim's room number. I couldn't help but think how sad it was that I was going to a paediatrics ward to visit someone who'd had a bullet taken out of them.

I could hear voices in Kim's room, and when I got in the door I found her talking to a tall, middle-aged man with kind eyes behind glasses. I might have taken him for a doctor, except that he wasn't wearing a white coat and he didn't have that air of being perpetually exhausted and distracted I've seen in so many doctors in hospitals.

"Madge!" Kim said. Her face lit up with the biggest smile I'd ever seen on her, which was comforting, because otherwise she might have looked scrawny and lost in that hospital bed with a big bandage on her leg.

I forgot briefly about her visitor as I gave Kim a big hug and made sure she was okay, and settled her back in the nest of pillows someone had made around her. But soon enough there was silence, and I turned to the man and gave him what Mallory had called my "who the hell are you" face.

"And you are?" I tried to keep my voice neutral, at least until I knew whether this man was friend or foe.

"John Kane." He held out his hand and I automatically shook it. His grip was firm and confident, which was a point in his favour. And then he said the one thing I'd never have expected to hear. "I'm Mallory's father."

Somehow I'd never thought about Mallory having parents, having a father who might turn up if needed. But here he was, and looking at him I could see the resemblance, could see the same determination in his otherwise kind eyes, could see the same assurance in the way he carried himself.

"Mallory told him about me." Kim voice was bubbly, and she was practically bouncing with excitement. "He's got a place in New Mexico where I can stay until I get my diploma."

Now don't get me wrong. I wanted to see Kim off the streets as much as anyone. That's no life for a kid. But I didn't know John Kane from Adam, and New Mexico was a hell of a long way from Iowa. And then there was Mallory herself. I'd liked her, but she'd kidnapped a man from the place where I worked. I wanted to make sure Kim wasn't going from the frying pan to the fire.

I'll give him credit, John Kane must have known exactly what was going on in my head. 

"Can I call you Madge?" he asked.

"You can call me Ms. Campbell for now." 

He didn't even blink at my rudeness.

"Ms. Campbell, I want what Mallory wants: to make sure Kim has a home. And I'm going to do it through proper channels. I've applied to foster Kim."

"Bad things can happen in foster care." I'd seen enough in fifty-odd years to know that.

"I promise you nothing bad will happen to Kim."

"But your daughter…" I trailed off, not even knowing what I wanted to say, what I wanted to ask. _How can you foster anyone if your daughter is a criminal_? came the nearest, but I didn't quite have the gumption to ask it.

"Mallory used to be a Marine, and now she does work for the government that no one else wants to do. I know it may not look it, but Mallory is a good person."

"So, the police aren't after her for what happened?"

"No. I'm sure things have been explained to them."

"And you'll look after Kim?"

"As if she were my own daughter."

"And if I ask her to call me every week?"

"I'll insist on it if it'll make you feel better, Ms. Campbell."

I took a breath and made a decision. 

"You can call me Madge."

* * *

Mallory turned up in the diner a few weeks ago.

I nearly didn't recognize her.

She was dressed sharp, and looked out of place in our run down little neighbourhood. I figured she was some rich lady who'd gotten lost and was stopping in to ask for directions. But then she smiled at me, and said my name, and I realized who she was.

"You looking for a job? Because the waitress on evening shift is horrible. We could use the help."

"No." She laughed. "I'm passing through, and I wanted to come say hello. And thank you."

"Thank me?"

"For looking out for Kim. And being nice to my dad."

"Your dad's a good person. Like his daughter."

She smiled, but didn't blush. I don't think she had it in her to blush.

"You should sit down. I'll make a fresh pot of coffee for you."

"I can't, Madge. I really am passing through, but I wanted to see you. Just for a minute."

The door opened and a young man stepped into the diner. It took a second, but I realized he was one of the construction workers from that day. One of the one's who had snatched Earl.

"Mallory, time's a wastin'." He tapped his watch, and I was struck by the sudden urge to slap him.

"I'll be there in a second, Aaron. Go wait outside, would you?" Mallory's eyes flashed with humour as the young man left in a huff. "You'll have to excuse him. He's young."

"Doesn't mean he can't have manners."

"Oh, I've missed you, Madge." She gave me a hug and then started to move towards the door.

"You ever want to change your line of work, there's a job waiting for you here," I said. It was ridiculous, but it was also true. I wondered how long Mallory could keep doing what she did. How long could she go until the job damaged her beyond repair. Or killed her.

"I'll remember that, Madge," she said as she opened the door. "I really will."

And then she was gone.

I still hear from Kim every week. She got her GED, and now she's going to college in New Mexico. Every time I talk to her she tells me that Mallory and her dad and I saved her life. I don't know about that, but I'm glad she's doing well.

I talk to John Kane every now and then, too. I think he's a bit lonely, with Mallory always God knows where, doing God knows what, and Kim off at college.

And I'm always hoping that Mallory will be just passing through Iowa one more time and decide she needs a cup of lousy diner coffee.

There's always time for a coffee with a good friend: that's Madge's Rule Number One.


End file.
